*THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME PUSH A FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD BOY IN A WHEELCHAIR INTO HIS CHARITY GALA—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE'S FAKING HIS INJURIES FOR MONEY,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE BOY WAS HOLDING A BROKEN SMOKE DETECTOR FROM ONE OF HIS OWN BUILDINGS.**

Two months passed in a state of quiet, beautiful normalcy.

The Moretti estate, once a fortress of secrets, had transformed into a true home.

The foundation was thriving under my direction. We had relocated all the Willow Creek tenants to newly purchased, fully inspected townhouses. Salvatore Bellini was rotting in a federal supermax, and the remaining syndicate bosses had entirely abandoned Chicago, terrified of Marcus Moretti’s ruthless takeover of the underworld.

Caleb’s ankle had fully healed. He was walking without a cane, spending his afternoons in the estate's massive garage, which Luca had converted into a tech workshop for him.

Elena had taken over the estate's sprawling greenhouse, discovering a passion for botany she never knew she had.

And Luca and I were happy. We were taking our relationship slowly, building a foundation of deep trust and quiet romance.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The sky was grey with the threat of early winter snow.

I was in Luca’s private study, organizing the final transfer documents for a new charity grant.

Luca was sitting behind his mahogany desk, reading over a contract.

"If we allocate the remaining funds to the pediatric ward," I said, tapping my pen on the clipboard, "we can fully fund their new oncology wing by Christmas."

Luca smiled, looking up at me. "Do it. Whatever you think is best, Rachel."

I smiled back, turning to file the document in the heavy oak filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

The cabinet was an antique, incredibly heavy, and belonged to Giovanni Moretti.

As I pulled the bottom drawer open, it stuck.

I jiggled the handle, pulling harder.

With a loud crack, the drawer slid entirely out of the track, crashing onto the Persian rug.

"Whoa," Luca said, standing up and coming around the desk. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I sighed, kneeling to pick up the spilled files. "It just jammed."

Luca knelt beside me to help.

As he reached into the empty cavity where the drawer had been, his hand brushed against something metallic.

He frowned.

He pulled his phone out, turning on the flashlight, and shined it into the dark space.

"Rachel," Luca murmured, his voice tight. "Look at this."

I leaned in.

Bolted to the floorboard, hidden completely behind the bottom drawer, was a small, flat steel safe. It had a biometric thumbprint scanner.

"I've lived in this house my entire life," Luca whispered. "I never knew this was here."

"It must be your father's," I said, a cold chill running down my spine. Giovanni Moretti’s secrets had almost destroyed us once. What else was he hiding?

Luca placed his thumb on the scanner.

It beeped twice, flashing a red error light.

"It's locked to his biometrics," Luca said, sitting back on his heels.

"So we can't open it?"

Luca looked at the steel box, his eyes darkening with a familiar, dangerous resolve.

"Daniel!" Luca shouted toward the open study door.

A moment later, Daniel jogged into the room, fully recovered from his gunshot wound. "Yes, Boss?"

"Bring me the plasma cutter from the garage."

Ten minutes later, the smell of ozone and burning metal filled the study.

Sparks showered across the rug as Daniel expertly sliced through the heavy steel hinges of the hidden safe.

With a final hiss, Daniel kicked the lid open.

He backed away, giving Luca space.